


what the end could bring

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Jon comes back to winterfell, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-09 02:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, that’s what Maester Aemon said. But no, Jon finds that a wolf without his pack is much more terrible.There’s no loss when you do not even know what you're missing; the loss lies within the emptiness of something you had and could never have again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlibbertiGiblet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlibbertiGiblet/gifts).



> Gifting this fic to Katya for keeping me sane throughout season 8. Duuuude, thank you so much!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!!

Jon takes a long gulp of Tormund’s brew, wincing as the liquid traced a bitter trail down his throat,. He’s alone now, the rest of his company now either off to sleep or to mate. 

He’s sitting in front of the fire, the night sky bright overhead as he watched the flames dance within itself. The sight is calming and peaceful, so unlike the wild flames that still haunt him some nights.

But even with his eyes wide open, he can still feel the heat of a burning kingdom and the screams of burning men.

It was madness.

More often than not, the guilt still tempts to swallow him whole. To devour him until none of him is left.

Should it happen, he thinks he’d deserve it. He takes another gulp of the drink and he doesn’t even realize Tormund’s arrival until the horn is taken from his hand.

“You could go back, you know,” Tormund tells him as he sits next to Jon, swiping the liquid off his mouth. “South.”

Jon is already shaking his head. “I’ve been banished, I told you this already.”

“Aye. You’ve been banished North. Aren’t you the one who’s so fond of reminding us that Winterfell is part of the North?” When Jon doesn’t respond to correct him, Tormund keeps going. “Sansa wouldn’t turn you away if you come to her.”

“She wouldn’t,” Jon agrees solemnly. “And what would the rest of the realm do once they find out? I’m a kinslayer, this is my punishment. If I go anywhere South of here, I’m probably as good as dead.”

Tormund shakes his head, disbelieving. “Your sister is Queen. She’d protect you.”

“She shouldn’t have to.”

Yet that's all he thinks about most nights. He fantasizes constantly about going back to Winterfell on a whim and live out the rest of his life within the walls of the castle.

Sometimes it almost feels real.

He shakes it off, though. Finding the days when he thinks about it go by slower than the rest.

He lets it remain a fantasy, a sort of self-punishment. He does not deserve the warmth of home and the love of his kin. Not after what he’s done.

He’d failed them time and again. He’s better off where he is; alone. And where he cannot fail them once more.

Days go by. Weeks and months. He sleeps in his lonesome underneath the moonlight and wakes up on a bed of snow. He tries to pretend it’s enough and tries not to dream any more dreams.

He thinks back to his youth, of wanting only one thing in life. To be a Stark. And what he got in return was a tarnish in his blood. The blood of conquerors and madmen.

More days go by, more weeks. He deserves to be where he is, forgotten by the rest of the world. Days bleed into nights and he accepts this to be his life. He does not question it.

_ A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing _ , that’s what Maester Aemon said. But  _ no _ , Jon finds that a wolf without his pack is much more terrible. 

There’s no loss when you do not even know what you lost; the loss lies within the emptiness of something you had and could never have again.

“When you sleep,” Tormund ends the silence of the night, passing the horn of goat’s milk back to Jon. “What do you dream?”

Many a night, he finds himself in the company of the man. The pair of them tossing back a drink between them until Tormund ultimately finds better company.

Jon thought on his question, feeling his cheeks grow warm before a drop of alcohol could even pass his lips.

Used to be, he dreamed of fire and screaming men. The flames are so red he finds it hard to breathe even in his sleep.

Now though...

“I hear you, you know,” Tormund says knowingly, smirking at him. “Yearning for her in your sleep.”

Now he dreams of a different kind of flame. Of long, red hair.  _ Kissed by fire. _ And eyes so blue he could drown in them.

_ Sansa. _

“You have the true North in you, I stand by that. But your heart is elsewhere. You’ll find no joy in this world lest you look for it yourself.” Tormund stands up and pats him on the shoulder. “Go home, Jon Snow. Back where you belong.”

*

Sansa heaves out a heavy sigh, listening distractly as Maester Wolkan read a scroll from yet another Southern Lord.

It seems three years of declining proposals of marriage has not sent a clear message.

The Queen in the North shall not be beholden to another Southern Lord. When she marries, if at all, it will be to a Northman. And it shall be for love.

She allows herself the small fantasy, but she knows that’s all it is. At some point she will have to relent to her Council’s pleas for her to wed, but for now she still has time.

She’s young. She’ll use that excuse for as long as she can .

“There’s another thing, Your Grace,” the Maester tells her slowly, looking uncomfortable. “Jon Snow rides from Beyond the Wall.”

She turns to him sharply. “Jon. Truly?”

She does not let herself smile at the news, though the relief washes over her as soon as the Maester nods in confirmation.

It’s the first time she’s hearing of him in years. The last she heard of him was before he and his company of Wildlings’ departed the Night’s Watch to journey back to Hardhome.

“He’s been spotted near the Last Hearth, Your Grace. With the wolf. What are your commands?”

Sansa takes a deep breath, turning her attention back to the courtyard where her men are currently training. “Let him be.”

Pardoning Jon from his crimes had been among the first things she decreed upon her coronation, hoping he might one day find his way back home.

“And if he rides for Winterfell?”

She didn’t think he ever would, remembering the time she saw him last. There had been a haunted look in his eyes, one she’s never seen there before. Any fight in her to defend him, to keep him close to her, died on the spot.

He  _ wanted _ to leave.

“Then show him to his room. This is his  _ home _ , afterall.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can:t believe I can be this coherent while drunk. But anywaaaaay,
> 
> HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY!!! (and please forgive me if there are more errors than usual)

Sansa no longer prays. She has not prayed since King’s Landing and she’s not sure she ever will again. But it’s still the Godswood of Winterfell that brings her the most peace and comfort, and so she makes a habit of visiting her father’s gods each morning to sit before the Weirwood for a moment of quiet.

Most days she would let her mind roam free, remembering moments of her childhood where she was happiest. She would think of Robb, of Rickon, and of her Father. She would even think of her mother, whose visit to the Old Gods came rare.

Other days, she would sit there pondering over the duties os a Queen. Of things she must accomplish. Of the weight of the crown atop her head. Of her authority in the North and making sure she puts her people's needs first and foremost at all times.

Today, she sits there with a letter from Brienne.

Like many people in her life, she has not seen her Lady Knight since the last time she stepped foot in King’s Landing, but it was by her own design.

The men in her family does not do well in the South, it’s a fact proven time and again. It does not matter that Bran is the Three-eyed Raven, and the King of the Six Kingdoms beyond that, Sansa would protect him still, in whatever way she can. Even if it meant losing a trusted friend and most capable warrior.

Sansa had done her best to surround him with people that would truly care for him and she hopes it’s enough.

She reads Brienne’s letter with a soft, sad smile. Her friend tells her of her brother and how he’s faring in the South.

Bran will never be the boy she remembers from her childhood memories, but Brienne assures that he’s not the same shell of himself when he first arrived back in Winterfell either.

He’s a man grown now, and a King. He ruled over his people fairly and well, earning him the respect he deserves. He was marked as Bran the Broken, but time has proven that he is more than that.

 _Bran the Wise_ , that’s what the people call him now, according to Brienne. And Sansa can only be glad.

Brienne goes on to talk a bit about King’s Landing and how she and Pod are doing, before the usual question of Sansa’s well-being and whatnot.

She’ll write her response later, grateful that her friend still looks after Bran, even now.. But while she is grateful,, it’s a letter from her sister she’s been waiting for most.

Arya seldom writes, but that’s mostly because she’s almost never in land. Though whenever she is able, she regals Sansa of her journey West, of the things she’s discovered and heard in her travels. Her sister has never been a wordsmith, but the way she describes her discoveries often makes Sansa feel as though she is eight there with her sister.

Sometimes she wishes to be.

Yet it is not her path; she knows she’s right where she’s supposed to be. If only it was not such a lonesome destiny.

 

It is after her visit to the Godswood that she hears of Jon’s arrival. It has been days since she last heard word of him and she has been wondering if he will ever make hos way to the castle.

“Inform my _cousin_ that I shall see him at the Great Hall for supper,” she says, directing her words at the guard who has come to tell her the news. “Much as I’d like to greet him, I have matters to attend to.”

The last part is only a half-truth; while she does have responsibilities to see to, it is not so urgent that she could not spare a moment or two to see him herself. In complete honesty, she’s wary. Afraid, even, of seeing Jon. It would be the first time she’d be seeing any of her family in a long time that she feels unsure.

Though she does not let herself dwell on it further, making her way to the Hall where people have gathered to air their grievances and await for her to dispense justice.

It is in the middle of this when Jon enters the hall.

She doesn’t notice him at first, but the sudden murmuring of the crowd takes her attention for a moment and she searches the room for the source of commotion.

Her eyes finds him almost instantly, he’s hard to miss in his thick white fur, standing uncomfortably at the far corner of the room as he watched the happenings around him.

She finds his eyes wandering, seeming once more like the boy she remembers from her youth.

He seems out of place.

She waits until he finally looks at her and meets her eyes before smiling, offering him what little comfort she could from where she’s sitting.

She turns back to the man speaking in front of her after a while, though she finds that her attentions stays with Jon.

He remains on his chosen spot throughout the entire thing, a quiet observer. He moves only at the end once one of her men asks if anyone else wishes to speak.

He walks slowly, his eyes only on her. He stops right in front of her, his knees falling to the ground with his head bowed low.

“Your Grace.”

Hushed conversation start again and she knows the kind of things they whisper about. _Kinslayer. Dragonspawn. Targaryen scum. ._

They forget that he was once their King. And that, in the moment that mattered most, he did what needed to be be done to save the Realm from tyranny.

She raises a hand to silence them, rising from her seat to move closer to Jon.

“Rise,” she instructs.

Her breath catches on her throat once he does, and she’s the closest she’s been with him since saying their goodbyes in King’s Landing.

The first thing she notices about him is that his hair has grown. His beard as well. It’s longer than she’s ever seen him keep it. Up close, he looks much older. More weary and tired.

Her bones are aching to embrace him as she’s done many times before. As she’s done in Castle Black.

But she’s not the same girl, nor is he the same man.

“You look well,” she notes instead, voice low so only he could hear.

“As do you,” he replies with a shadow of a smile before catching himself.

“What brings you to Winterfell?”

“A promise.” He looks at her as though he wants her to understand more than his words. “One that’s long overdue.”

She tilts her head, studying him, and the meaning is clear. _I’ll protect you, I promise._

She sucks in a deep breath; it’s not something she wanted to hear. She told him, didn’t she? _You can’t protect me._

And it’s not a promise she’s have him making now.

He seems to understand this, seems to read the expression on her face clearly. “I did not expect you to accept my sword, Your Grace. I - I shall leave if you wish it and  suffer the consequence of abandoning the Night’s Watch.”

“I will do no such thing. As Queen in the North, was by my decree that you be pardoned for your crimes years ago. You, Jon Snow, are a free man.” she walks back to her chair, putting some distance between them. “As you are here, Maester Wolkan has seen to it that your room be prepared. You may stay for as long as you wish.”


End file.
